It was a rare sunny morning and there I was, minding my own business, when wham!
I was spreadeagled, face down, in the middle of the road. Somehow I’d missed my footing stepping down from the kerb and, as the kids say, face planted the tarmac.
It hurt a lot.
There was blood. I had the shakes from the huge adrenaline rush. There were tears. There was snot.
Luckily, The Brainy One was with me, as we were heading to the park with Tilly. Also, lots of people stopped and offered help – from the workman at the pub to the lady who pulled over in her car and offered assistance. Strangers were incredibly kind.
My biggest concern? Not the blood. Nor the duck-egg sized bump on my forehead. My brand new glasses, as the impact of the fall snapped off the left hand arm and scratched the lens. The opticians, however, were utterly brilliant. That very afternoon, they replaced the frames and repaired the lens, and didn’t charge me a penny.
Three days on and I’m a talking point, both with friends and strangers. It looks worse than it feels. And, for someone in her early 50s, I have my very first black eye.
The fall was in no way the fault of Tilly, but life might have been a little less painful if we owned a cat .